


Little Boy Blue and the Man in the Moon

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Memories, Parenthood, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-14
Updated: 2011-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four motherless sons in Minerva McGonagall’s life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Boy Blue and the Man in the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://matrithon.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://matrithon.livejournal.com/)**matrithon** ’s celebration of women over 40.
> 
> Note (3.25.15): This fic was written before JKR added Minerva's backstory on pottermore.com. She did not have a child during her brief marriage. Consider this an AU story.

I.

“Papa," she says one evening, “may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, darling girl,” Robert McGonagall replies. He looks at her over the top of his newspaper. He tries to present a stern countenance; his children know not to disturb him while he reads. But this beloved small daughter asks so little of him, and is so adorable with her curls and the big red bow in her hair that he finds he simply cannot muster a frown. So, instead, he smiles at her. He lowers the paper all the way, and invites her to come stand beside his chair. “Now, what is so important that you must interrupt my reading?”

Minerva walks quickly to him. “Papa, why don’t I have a grandmother from you?”

Robert is startled by her question because for all her life, she has not had a paternal grandmother. “Well, my mother died when I was very young, about the time I was your age.”

“How?”

He considers how to address the curiosity of a five-year-old. She doesn’t need to know that his mother died giving birth to his youngest sister, the now-adored Auntie Susannah. So he bends the truth and whitens the lie. “She became ill and, after a few days, she died.”

Minerva is silent and bites her lower lip as she looks into the brightly burning fire.

“Come here,” Robert says, taking her by the hand and pulling her to stand in front of him; he lifts her and gently places her on his lap. “Why this question? You have Granny and Pappy, yes?”

Minerva leans into his embrace. “Theresa Blackthorne has two grandmas. She says since I have a mother and a father, I should have two grandmas and two grandpas.

“Yes, you do, in fact, have two set of grandparents, living and deceased. We all do. And you knew your Grandfather William before he died last year in the charms accident.” That elicits a nod from her. “He loved you very much.”

She remains quiet and thoughtful, and then she says, “I’m sorry your mother died. I would have liked to have known her.” And she hugs him.

He could have explained that he had a step-mother who raised him with love and that she died in a flu epidemic the year he went off to university. It is a loss he still feels keenly to this day. But instead he kisses her forehead tenderly, and whispers, “Thank you, my darling girl. I have missed her these many years.”

II.

“Come in, Mr. Lupin,” she says, exasperated. “You are twenty minutes late!”

Remus Lupin closes the door behind him and straightens his robes. “I apologize, Professor,” he says. “There was an altercation in the hallway on my way here. A Slytherin sixth year was hasseling a Hufflepuff firstie, and I took offence at that.”

Minerva McGonagall has no doubt, and again she is pleased at having selected him as prefect for Gryffindor, even as Headmaster Dumbledore had--gently--opposed it. “Now, Mr. Lupin, I would like to review your course selections as you are beginning your final year here at Hogwarts.” She picks up a piece of parchment with his time table on it. “I see that you have dropped Potions and Charms and have decided to take Ancient Runes and an independent study course of wizarding literature.” She lets the parchment fall from her hand. “You do know you cannot enter magical law enforcement, your choice from last year, without Potions or Charms.”

“I understand, Professor.”

Minerva takes a good long look at him. He is as wan and thin as always, just on the other side of looking like he could drop from exhaustion in an instant. He’s always been quiet, withdrawn. She’s always supposed it was a by-product of his “condition”, but this time he’s even more tired-looking.

“Mr. Lupin, while I do not oppose your selection of coursework, I am curious,” she says, removing her glasses. “You have a keen mind and don’t mind using it, unlike your similarly brilliant housemates.” She watches as he hangs his head and smiles sheepishly. “So why this change in your career plans?”

He twists his fingers together in knots and opens his mouth several times as if to allow words to tumble forth. “Does this have something to do with losing your mother over the holiday?” she ventures gently. “Yes, I heard. We all did.”

He nods, and swallows hard, his head dropped nearly into his chest. “I-I-I can’t work for the Ministry. Not after what happened.”

“What did happen, Remus?”

Again, he doesn’t answer right away. Minerva gets up and walks around to the front of her desk. She sits in the chair next to him, and gently, she reaches over and places a fingertip under his chin. As his face rises to hers, she sees one tear trickle down his cheek. “Oh, my dear, boy. I know that I expressed my sympathies to you and your father at her service, but you must know that my heart weeps for you.”

And that seems to open the dam as the words and tear rush out. “How can I work for the Ministry when they won’t even _acknowledge_ to truth of her death? That they won’t admit publicly how she died! That they didn’t protect her from the very thing she was trying to cure!!”

Minerva inhales sharply. “What was she doing?”

His answer is full of anguish and anger. “She--she was working with a werewolf! She’s been working on a potion that will alleviate the worst of the transformation, so that it doesn’t hurt so much. I’ve been taking some of the--” He stops, and looks up at her, his eyes wide with fright and despair. “Oh, Merlin! Oh, Professor, I just--”

“I have known about who and what you are since midway through your first term, Remus.” She lays a calming hand on his, then smiles gently at him. “It’s fairly obvious and hard to miss.”

Remus cradles his head in his other hand. “Does everyone else know?”

“Probably. Those who are paying attention. The fact that you are still here should tell you something, though. That you haven’t been sent home or ostracized by your peers?”

He nods in understanding. “All right. Fair enough.”

“Now, tell me.” She sits up straighter, assumes her best professorial posture. “Your mother was working on an analgesic potion for werewolves?”

“Yes, but it was different, too. She wanted to change the psychological effects pharmaceutically. She was working on a way to make the werewolf retain his or her mind. As a human.”

Minerva’s eyes widen. “That’s fascinating, Remus. And would be such a breakthrough to all who suffer from this terrible affliction.”

“Well, she was testing it on me and on this other man. A friend of my parents. Someone they’ve known for a long time, and who helped me understand what was going on when I was first infected.” He looks up, and the tears come again. “And he killed her.” He slumps back in the chair, his hand coming to cover his eyes as his body convulses in wracking sobs. “He took -- his own -- life the -- following -- morning when -- he realized what -- had happened.”

Without another thought, Minerva leans over and takes the sobbing boy in her arms, rocking them both at such horrific news. She murmurs comforting words into his hair as he spends his grief into her shoulder. It takes several minutes for the storm to subside, but Minerva still holds him.

“You have suffered such a terrible loss, Remus. I am so sorry. For you, for your father, for your family,” she says. “It is just terrible. So terrible. So very sad for all of you.”

It takes many many more minutes for him to regain control, for the sobs to become silent tears. Minerva continues to hold him closely and finally, Remus lifts his head. She Transfigures a piece of parchment into a handkerchief and hands it to him.

“The final blow is that the Ministry wants to destroy my mother’s research notes. To quash any more attempts at trying to alleviate the suffering of werewolves.” He mops at his face again, and blows his nose.

Minerva is speechless. “They want to what? I am outraged,” she says in a low, steely voice. She exhales and smoothes the front of her robes. “I promise you, Remus, I will personally recover your mother’s research. I will make sure it is continued.”

Remus looks at her and a small smile lights his face. “You will?”

“Of course. It is just like the Ministry to act in a foolish manner, to end an important project and then to cover it up.” She rises from the chair and goes to her desk; she picks up her glasses and sets them on her nose. “I shall take care of this.” And then, she says softly, “Remus, you may come to me any time you feel need of--anything, especially when you are feeling especially sad.”

He nods and stands. “Thank you, Professor. For everything.

III.

_Today, we are pleased to commission two new members into the Auror Corps, two who have satisfactorily completed all of the coursework and training exercises. Our first new Auror is Harry James Potter. . . .”_

Minerva McGonagall sits up proudly as she watches her former pupil walk smartly to the podium, tall and handsome in his Auror robes. His hair is much shorter than when he was at school, and the horrid round glasses have been replaced with ones that compliment his face.

The first time she saw him he was just a toddler, one with soft, full cheeks and chubby legs. Leaving him on the doorstep of his Muggle relatives was quite possibly the hardest thing she and Albus had ever done. They should have placed him in a suitable wizarding home. How difficult would it have been to find a family to love him and raise him as their own, in their own world? But Albus had known better, knew that the complicated bonds of blood and family would provide protection beyond even his understanding.

And when he had arrived at Hogwarts, she had been shocked by what she saw: a boy too small and skinny, of a thin and sallow face. His clothing ill-fitting and worn. Completely ignorant of who and what he was, of the noble Potter family magical heritage. As she had learned more about the Boy Who Lived, she had been outraged that he was more like the Boy Who Barely Survived Childhood. Albus had had to talk her down from going Number 4, Privet Drive straightaway and hexing that nasty family into tomorrow’s news.

As he grew and became a wizard, she had been troubled by the haunted look about him, of realizing the terrible, terrible danger he was in, of experiencing the direct attacks of that madman. And all of them truly helpless to do anything directly about it. Except to continue to teach him, to encourage him, to make sure he had normal experiences of childhood and adolescence whenever they could do so. She had been so pleased to have him play Quidditch and enjoy the thrill of flying and playing games. But, of course, his native talent had ensured that he retained his spot on the Gryffindor team as long as he liked.

“Minerva! What are you doing here?”

She looks up at Harry’s surprised face, and realizes that her musings have made her miss the ceremony. “Well, you wouldn’t expect me to miss this, would you? After all, I made a vow to do everything in my power to clear the way for you to be an Auror if that’s what you wished.” She stands and looks him squarely in the eyes. “I see, however, that my power was unnecessary.”

For a split-second, she is bemused by the gobsmacked look on his face. Then, she is engulfed in a tight hug. “Oh, Professor,” he says quietly, “I couldn’t have done _anything_ without you.”

He releases her, but his strong hands take hers carefully. “All that I am is because of your faith in me,” he says. “I will not let you down.” He kisses her cheek, then turns and walks away.

Of that, she has no doubt.

She watches him as he is congratulated and welcomed by the company of Aurors, past and present.

And for the first time, in a very long time, something akin to hope takes hold, and she smiles.

IV.

“Mr. Lupin, please have a seat.”

A feeling of _deja vu_ comes over her as she offers the boy a seat in front of her. Teddy Lupin has his father’s golden brown eyes and serious academic ability, but everything else came from his mother: the floppy hair that is a golden brown today, the heart-shaped face. The sweet demeanor. And, a certain disregard for the rules? Totally a gift from his godfather.

“Now, Mr. Lupin, while I understand that hi-jinks are a part of Hogwarts student life, you and your friends have taken it just a bit too far. Locking students into broom cupboards can lead to serious reactions, especially if that student has issues with small spaces. Do you understand me?”

Teddy’s eyes widen at her stern tone. “Yes, Headmistress.”

“You will serve detention Saturday morning with Professor Longbottom. I do believe there are some pots that need to be cleaned,” she says. “And I shall be informing your godfather.”

“Oh, no!” he says quickly. “Please don’t. I--it’s. . . .”

His terrified look softens her, and she has to bite back a laugh. So instead she coughs, and says, “Yes, Mr. Lupin?”

“Please don’t. I promise I’ll never do anything like that again! I really will!” He conveys sincerity, and perhaps the fear of disappointing Harry Potter, Head Auror, is enough. His bottom lip quivers.

As she picks up a quill, she bends her head to hide the smile. “Believe me. Mr. Potter did far, far worse when he was student. I’m sure he will express his own concerns for your behaviour when you see him Saturday for the Quidditch match.”

Teddy sniffs loudly and draws his sleeve across his nose, making her wince. “You mean, I can still go to the match?”

“My dear boy, of course you can go. Gryffindor needs all the support it can get.” She looks at him over her glasses. “As long as you complete the terms of your detention.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” he says with vigor.

“You may go, Teddy. And next time, think before you act.”

“I will!” And he’s off like a shot through the door.

She smiles and twirls the quill in her fingers. _So different, so very different from his godfather._

_Love is the difference._

Minerva looks down as she writes: _You’ll be pleased to know, Mr. Potter, that the long tradition of the Marauders continues. . . .”_

  
V.  
1956  
_The door chime sounds. Again. And again._

_Minerva shifts listlessly in her chair. One more time, the door chime rings. It’s only then that she makes the effort to take her leave, to walk. To live._

_At the open door, she sees nothing but purple robes and auburn hair and open arms. “Minerva, my darling,” Albus says, as he takes her into his embrace. “I am so sorry for your deep loss. No mother should have to bury their child. . . .”_

_She sobs as the velvet warmth of his robes surrounds her. If she could, she would escape into that warmth forever, never allow the cold touch of death affect her again. To lose her husband is awful, but her son as well? It is too much, too much to take in. Too much to survive._

_He leads her into the lounge and settles her on the sofa. He hands her the cup of tea she had been drinking and charms the pot to pour him a cup, too. After many long minutes, he finally speaks._

_“I have been appointed the Headmaster at Hogwarts, Minerva. I shall be needing someone to succeed me in the Transfiguration chair, of course. And when I began to think of those who would be equal to my skill, your face came immediately to mind.” He takes another sip of tea. “I should very much like to see you at the head table come September.”_

  
...Present day...

She takes a sip of the amber liquid; the scotch burns brightly going down. Albus always did have the best in his stash.

“Ah, Minerva,” a voice from the dark says. “It is that time again?”

“It’s always that time, Headmaster. It comes too quickly and stays too long.”

“Ahh, my dear one. How I wish I could share that ancient scotch with you, but alas,” Dumbledore says, heavy with regret. “But I think I have taken care of that for you.”

“I could pour it on your frame and hope that it seeps into your paint,” Minerva replies wryly.

And as he says this, there is a knock at the door. _Of course there’s a knock at the door._ Minerva waves her wand and heavy oak door opens slowly.

“Minerva?”

The Headmistress of Hogwarts stands, surprised to see Harry Potter, now a grown man with children of his own and the next Minister for Magic, come through the door. “May we come in?”

Behind him are Teddy Lupin, now Auror Lupin, and several long-time members of her faculty. “We know what today is,” Harry says, “and if you agree, we would like to be here with you.”

Minerva McGonagall is not the kind of woman who is prone to outbursts and break-downs, but as the tears come forth she finds that at this moment she simply does not care.

Harry reaches her first and hugs her gently. “We all are so sorry for your loss. Even after sixty years, we know you still miss them. But I have always thought of you and Molly as my mothers, who were there for me when I needed you most. And I know Teddy thinks of you the same way.”

“You always scolded me when I needed it most,” Teddy says at her other side, “and were there to praise me, too.”

There are murmurs of agreement from many of the faculty members. “Perhaps we should change your title to ‘First Mother of Hogwarts’,” Neville Longbottom says.

They all laugh, including Minerva. “Thank you all for being here. This is the only day that I allow myself to remember Robert and William, and I always have a scotch in their honour.” She waves her wand and the crystal tumblers on the sideboard are filled from Albus’s magical bottle. “I used to think of myself as a childless mother,” she says holding up her glass, “but that cannot be because in truth, you are all my children and I have mothered so many who have come through these doors. But you also, are parents to the wizarding families of Britain, so let us drink to children and parents, blood and chosen, here and beyond. _Slainte!_ ”

_”Slainte!”_

The evening passes and Minerva finds herself smiling in quiet joy for the many blessings around her. She waves to Harry and Teddy, Filius and Neville, and all the others who call Hogwarts home.

And tonight, Minerva McGonagall’s heart is full, as it always has been, for the love for all her children.


End file.
